The Moon Is Rising
by Maeshone
Summary: P.I. Jonah 'J.J' Jackson comes face to face with the demons of his past. A young Unblooded Yautja discovers that more than honor is at stake on his first hunt. A Spec Ops team discovers what it's like to be the hunted, rather than the hunter.


A.N: Newearth has a 32 hour day-cycle, M.O. means Modus Operandi, and is used to refer to the particular way a serial killer kills his/her victims, Yautja is what the Predators call themselves, Kainde Amehda is the Predator word for the Xenomorphs from Aliens. Unblooded refers to a predator that has not yet hunted. Bad Blood is a predator that disrespects or hunts dishonorable prey.

Future chapters will probably be divided into one character/group per chapter, to slim down on size and writing time.

* * *

_**Location: **__**A warehouse in the industrial slums of New Kalliope, capital of Dureanum, on the planet Newearth**_

_**Day 0, **__**19.47 PM**_

"_What the fuck had gone wrong," _Mike thought. "_The night had started so good, and now here I am, running for my life from god knows what!"_

Mike Drigg, one of New Kalliopes drug-dealer scum, had met with a group from the Renegade gang, in order to restock his dwindling supply of "Redcards", the drug that was most popular in the slums of the city. He had just been about to close the deal and head home when someone... _Something..._ had attacked.

The first victim had been a Jamaican-looking thug. The man had thought he had heard something moving about behind some boxes, and went to investigate. Only moments later he had returned, running back and shouting warnings to everyone. Half a second later, his head had been split nearly in two by something silvery flying to fast to catch a proper glimpse of.

Mike had been covered in something pinkish-grey and sticky. Disgusted, he realized that it was brain matter from the dead Jamaican... All around him, the guards had started firing blindly at an assailant they could not see. All of a sudden, a second man was lifted off his feet when something wrapped around him and nailed him to a large container. The impact was more than enough to render the man unconscious, but as if that wasn't enough, the net, as Mike had identified it as, began to constrict itself, the metal wires biting into the man's flesh, drawing blood as they did so. In front of Mikes eyes, the man was slowly cut into pieces.

Now everyone started to panic, as the unseen attacker killed several more guards. Mike had no intention of staying to watch the slaughter, or becoming part of it either, for that matter. Mike tried to figure out what his options were... He could turn around and head back out the same door that he had come through, but the attacker had proven to be much faster than anyone in the room, including himself, and a dash for the door would no doubt draw attention to him...

"I need to find a way out of here, quickly!"Mike told himself."But what way should I go!?"

Mikes eyes came to rest on the stairs that led upwards in the building, maybe he could lose the killer there? With nothing to lose, Mike started making his way towards the door to his freedom. At first he went slowly, barely daring to crawl, but as he made his way closer he became more bold, moving quicker and more decisively, dodging the shooting guards and dead bodies. As he reached the door he felt a surge of relief flowing through his body. He wasn't dead! He had made it!

In that instant, the last of the gunfire suddenly stopped, followed by a short scream, and the sickening sound of metal being pulled out of flesh.

That's when Mike started to run.

"_What the fuck had gone wrong," _Mike thought. "_The night had started so good, and now here I am, running for my life from god knows what!"_

He ran as fast as he could, moving through dimly lit corridors and filthy rooms. Now and then, he could swear that he heard the sound of heavy feet moving easily at the same speed as him, but when he looked around, he saw nothing. Suddenly something got in his way, and he tripped. Cursing, he crawled around on the floor, expecting to feel sharp blades driven into his back at any second... When nothing happened, he slowly rose to his feet and took a deep breath.

"_I made it! I outsmarted the bastard!" _He thought._ "Fuck... I thought I was done for.."._

"Hey, over here," a voice whispered from the opposite room.

"Who's there?" Mike asked.

"Over here!" the voice repeated.

"_Had someone else survived the attack?"_ Mike wonderedas he started moving in the direction of the speakers voice, keeping an eye peeled for any suspicious movements. When he entered the other room he quickly looked around, but saw no-one. He was just about to back out when he heard a faint shuffling sound by the window.

That's was when he saw _it._

It was lit up suddenly as Karon-2, Newearths largest moon, appeared from behind the clouds. Well, he didn't exactly see it, he only saw a faint outline, as if the thing was somehow transparent, _invisible_ even. But what he did see was enough to make even Mike want to wet his pants. The thing was huge, standing at least 7.2 feet tall. As he watched, the creature looked straight at Mike, and said:

"Over here..."

Now Mike really did wet his pants. As the smell of urine reached his nose , he whimpered. All of a sudden, a metallic sound came from the creature

_Schkt!_

It was a sound straight from Mikes nightmares. It sounded as if knives were pulled out of their sheaths with a speed too great for the human eye to perceive. The sound came as a signal for him, and he turned and fled, expecting at any second to feel those knives buried in his back. But that didn't happen... Instead, the only thing he heard when he ran was a mad laugh that was coming from the room he had just left. All of a sudden, as he burst through a closed door, fresh air hit him in the face. He drew a deep breath. He had arrived at the roof of the building, and he felt a sudden surge of relief. From here he was sure that he would be able to call for help!

He walked cautiously around the roof, expecting the creature to suddenly appear from behind any corner and gut him like an animal. As he walked around the last corner of the roof, he heard a clicking sound behind him. Mike froze. As he slowly turned around, he saw that same see-through outlining again. Only this time it was barely a foot or so away. Suddenly, as he watched, the outlining disappeared, revealing a creature with a brownish skin tone, and what looked almost like dreadlocks coming from the base of the skull... The creature let out a terrifying roar and raised both his hands in air in triumph. That image would be burned on Mikes eyelids for the rest of his life.

Mainly because the rest of his life lasted about half a second longer.

The creature lowered his right arm in-humanly fast, and Mike saw that on a wristband, the creature had two knives that looked sharpened to a razor edge. Then, a red hot pain soared through his body, followed by darkness...

_It is almost midnight. The previously busy warehouse now lies silent and dark. The hunter standing on top of the building raises his hand in the air, holding the severed head of a man with his expression frozen in terror. The hunter lets out a roar of victory, bloodlust, and triumph. Above his head,_ The Moon Is Rising.

_

* * *

_

_**Location: A run-down office building near downtown New Kalliope**_

_**Day 1, **__**05.13 AM**_

The silence was suddenly pierced by the shrill tone of a cellphone. Jonah Jackson stirred in his fold-out bed, and drowsily reached out for the machine.

"_Goddamnit!" _He thought. _"Who the hell calls me this early!?"_

Grabbing the phone, he glanced over the screen,. He was still sleepy, but he could make out a name that immediately woke him up.

"Lazard...? Sonuvvabitch..." He groaned. Rising up to a half-sitting position, he brought the phone to his ear, ready to chew Lazard out when he answered. "Look asshole, you can't keep harassing me like this anymore. I quit the force eight years ago after the incident in the docks...

"I know Jackson, I know." Lazard cut him off. "But we have a... Situation in the warehouse district that we thought you might want to take a look at... It's happened again, and we need... _I_ _need_ your help on this one, Jonah... So get your ass over here." Lazard hung up the phone with an audible click.

Jonah stared at the wall on the opposite side of the apartment. He was unable to get a single coherent thought through his head. _"What did he mean, it's happened again...?"_ Images of that night, eight years ago, started flashing through his head. Blood, brains, guts _everywhere_! He still had nightmares about that shit sometimes.

"_And now that fucker says it's happened again... And he wants my help..." _He thought to himself. "Shit Lazard... This better be worth it, or I'm gonna kick your ass for bringing this shit up again..."

Getting out of his bed, Jonah stared out over his apartment. The place doubled as both living space for him, and the office of his private investigation company. And it was a mess. There were empty junk food canisters everywhere, the "kitchen" desk was full of liquor bottles. Jonah was hesitant to call it a kitchen, as the only thing he'd ever cooked there was a stray cockroach that happened to be in the oven when he was bored. People who came to the office often left with the impression that Jonah didn't own a vacuum cleaner, as there was a thick layer of dust settled in every corner and on the bookshelves. Truth is, he did have a vacuum cleaner. He just couldn't get to it. It was stored away in the wardrobe, but he didn't want to open that because he was sure something was living in there.

Jonah hastily put on his clothes, and cast one quick glance in mirror. He didn't exactly see a flattering image of himself stare back. His grey hair was unkempt and messy. His face was wrinkled, weary, and the only outstanding feature was his crooked nose. He wore a black sweater that was full of stains, some where blood, others booze, and others from food. His pants were torn around the edges. The only thing that was somewhat whole was his trenchcoat, but even that had stains on the front.

He quickly pulled his hand through his hair. "Shit... You're getting old..." He told himself. Shaking his head to get rid of the remainder of the drowsiness, he headed for the door. Just as he got to the door, he stopped, turned around, and doubled back to the kitchen desk. Grabbing a bottle of bourbon.:

"I have a feeling that I'm gonna need you today." He said to himself. He took a deep swig from the bottle, tucked it into his trenchcoat pocket and headed out the door. As he got out on the street, the cold light of the street lights hit him straight in the face. He looked at his watch. _"5.24... The sun won't come up for another five hours..." _He thought to himself. He started walking down the street towards his usual parking spot. There she was. His one joy now that life had gone so horribly bad. His car was as beautiful as always, a shining diamond in an ocean of coal. Or so he thought. He took another swig of the bourbon, stared lovingly at the car for another minute, and then got in.

"_Warehouse district, huh? That's a ten minute drive... Might as well get started."_ Jonah turned the ignition and the car jumped to life with a soft rumbling sound. He stroked the car over the dashboard one last time, before grabbing the steering wheel and heading out on the road. Driving through downtown New Kalliope was less interesting than usual. Because it was so early, there were almost no people out... Even the scumbag lowlife didn't have the energy to stay awake until five in the morning on Newearth. Instead, Jonah started looking at the holo-boards that littered the roadside. It was always the same shit getting advertised. Cigarettes, liquor, the latest medical wonders... One was from a travelling agency, it was advertising different tropical destinations on Newearth.

"_Newearth...? Yeah, real clever... I wonder what lazy bastard came up with that name when this planet was colonized..." _Jonah thought to himself. He turned his attention away from the holo-boards as he got closer to the warehouse districts, looking around for any signs of a large police force. He soon spotted a large collection of police cars parked around one of the warehouses, and he pulled up next to them. Stepping out of his car, he instantly knew that something big had happened here. The police where everywhere, and radio chatter could be heard constantly. He walked up to the nearest officer and patted him on the shoulder.

"Where's Lazard?" Jonah wondered. "He asked me to come here."

"Oh, it's you. Yeah, you can probably find him inside the warehouse, he's sorting through the mess as we speak." The officer answered.

When he entered the warehouse, Jonah immediately started surveying the area. He spotted one body directly. It looked like his head had been hit by a high calibre round, judging from how much... or little, of it that was still attached to the body. The other body was a bit harder to discern, but when he saw it he wondered how he could possibly have missed it. It was nothing more than a mass of flesh, bones and blood that had been sliced into squares by something.

"J.J! Over here!" a voice suddenly shouted out behind him. "Good that you came, I knew you wouldn't resist an opportunity like this!"

Jonah turned around and looked at Lazard. The man was immaculately groomed as always. His white hair was combed backwards. The hairline had receded even more since the last time they had seen each other, but what hair he lost on top of his head, he seemed to replace in his moustache, which had grown ever thicker. He wore a black suit with a red shirt underneath. He may seem harmless, but Jonah knew that Lazard probably carried at least two handguns underneath that suit jacket. He always did. But even without the guns, Lazard exuded an aura of power that only the chief of police could have.

"Francis Lazard, you old bastard!" Jonah shook his hand. "You know that only you can get me out bed at such an ungodly hour. Now, tell me about this problem of yours. I only see two bodies, and none of them carry the M.O. from eight years ago."

"Oh really?" Lazard answered. "Then take a look up there..." He swept his flashlight over the roof.

At least ten bodies where hanging there, every single one of them skinned down to the muscles. A large pool of blood had gathered underneath them. The consistency of the blood implied that they had been dead a long time.

"Jesus Christ, Francis..." Jonah gasped. "How long have they been up there?"

"Forensics say that they died about seventeen hours ago, at approximately 20.00 PM. Most of 'em were dead when they were skinned though, cause of death is primarily being gutted with a sharp cutting object."

Jonah took a deep swig from the bottle while surveying the scene. He noticed something odd about one of the doors out of the main area. It looked almost like it had been ripped of its hinges. He walked up to the doorway and stared into the dark hallway. When he swept his flashlight through the hallway he noticed that this seemed to be an abandoned area. Dust lay in thick layers all over the floor, but there seemed to be trails heading from the doorway deeper into the warehouse. Unstrapping his gun, he started heading into the darkness...

_

* * *

_

_**Location: In orbit around Karon-2, Newearths largest moon**_

_**Day 1, 07.14**_

The young hunter is tired. He has spent long time practising, honing his skills to perfection for the upcoming ritual. The clan will test his skill in combat, and, if he should be deemed worthy, he will be sent alone to the surface of the human world. He will have to hunt, kill, and bring back trophies in order to be recognised as a true member of the clan. Until he does that, he is worth no more than a Bad Blood.

He is tall, taller than most other Yautja. But he is also skinnier, a trait that many previous sparring mates have mistaken for weakness. They soon found out the opposite. But his skill will not matter if he fails in the task ahead of him. And should he fail, he will not only shame himself, but his entire lineage. His father's father was a "cleaner", a hunter specialized in eradicating traces of hunts that have gone wrong, and his father's father was specialized in cleaning up Kainde Amehda, "the hard meat", a fierce predator with corrosive blood running through its veins.

But that was not his path. Not yet. First he needed to earn his place, his right to carry his lineages plasma-caster. The hiss of the door opening behind him quickly pulled the hunter out of his thoughts. Turning around, he saw the Clan-Leader, and quickly bowed his head in submission and acknowledgement. The Clan-Leader walked around him, inspecting him thoroughly. After finally finding everything in order, he made a short sound of approval, and motioned for the young hunter to follow him.

The two walked through the ship in silence, the young hunter often finding himself drifting off into thoughts about glorious hunts, and the trophies he would return with. He quickly shook these thoughts from his mind. He would need to focus on the task at hand, or he would not be able to go on any hunts, much less bring back any trophies. The pair finally arrived at their destination, and the Clan-Leader motioned for the hunter to proceed through the door. It opened with a hiss, and the hunter strode decisively through the opening. Looking around, he found himself in a circular arena. In front of him stood another, shorter and bulkier Unblooded, a frequent sparring mate of his who also would be going through the same trial. Only one of them would be allowed to travel down to the surface and earn their honour. On the edges of the arena there were several Yautja, it almost seemed like the entire clan had shown up to honour the ritual. The Clan-Leader soon appeared on the raised perch above the arena, and after looking over the two combatants, he let out a roar that was quickly echoed by every other Yautja in the room. When the room once again fell silent, the Clan-Leader motioned for the two hunters to begin.

They both turned towards each other, and both of them bowed their heads in respect of the other ones skill and honour. It was an important part in the ritual, to demonstrate that you had respect for your opponent. It was also doubly important in a hunt, having respect for your prey, and only hunting prey that inspired respect, was what set a true hunter apart from a Bad Blood.

The two start circling each other, both of them searching the other for any signs that demonstrated weakness, a flaw in their defence. The Clan-Leader gives the signal, and both the hunters bring out their wristblades at the same second. The short one is the first to attack, first leaning a bit to the right, and from there, lunging forward and bringing his blades down in a vertical arc in an attempt to throw his opponent off balance. The longer one skilfully deflects the blow and whirls around the other in an attempt to slash his opponent in his now exposed back. He lashes out with his blades in a backhanded motion, but the shorter hunter guards the blow with his armband and follows up with a cut towards the face. The longer hunter only just manages to avoid getting sliced in the face, but the blades hit him in the shoulder. A deafening roar rises from the edges of the arena, and the shorter hunter raises his hands triumphantly in the air. First blood has been drawn, but the real fight has hardly begun.

The two hunters once again turn their attention to each other, the longer one leaving a trail of luminescent green blood behind him. The shorter hunter decides to press on his advantage and once again lunges at his opponent, but in his excitement, he uses the same attack pattern again. The longer hunter reacts swiftly, sidestepping his charging opponent while striking out with his blades towards his opponents face. The blades bite home, and the other hunter roars in pain while covering up the wound where his left eye used to be.

The audience roars and stomps in excitement, and both hunters get some distance from their target. The shorter hunter doesn't bother with circling his opponent this time, instead charging straight at him. The taller hunter gets ready to sidestep to his opponents left side, which is now his blindspot, but, at the last second, the shorter hunter ducks and weaves to the right, and grabs the taller hunter around the neck, dragging him to the ground. The two of them wrestle on the ground, snarling and kicking, each knowing that the fight will be won by whomever comes out on top.

After what seems like an eternity, the taller hunter manages to get a grip around the base of his opponent's neck, and with fierce power he throws the shorter hunter to the ground and puts the edges of his wristblades to the neck of his enemy. He looks up towards the Clan-Leader, who, after some time, motions for him to stand down. The hunter extends his hand to his opponent, who grabs it and rises up. The two hunters bow their heads in respect for each other, and the loser walks out through the side door. He will not be going to the surface world to hunt today, but his skill in battle has ensured that he will live to be tested again.

The Clan-Leader steps down from his raised platform, and motions for the hunter to follow him. Once again, the two walk through the ship, and once again, the young hunters mind drifts off into thoughts of glorious hunts and trophies that will reward him with honour, and eventually, the right to mate. As they stepped into the armoury however, the hunter found himself staring at the weapons on display all over the walls. These weapons were master craftsmanship, handed down through generations of Yautja, every single one sharpened, oiled, or calibrated to perfection. As this was his first hunt, he would only get to bring two weapons, both of them handed down through the clan since long before the Yautja had achieved interstellar travel.

The Clan-Leader brought forth the ceremonial wristblades and spear, placing them gently on the table in front of the young hunter. Staring at them with admiration, he drew his fingers across the edges and felt every nick, every dent and scratch in the metal. These blades had been used countless times, every single time one of his clan was sent on his first hunt. Fastening the blades on his wristband, and strapping the spear to his back, he turned to face the Clan-Leader who brought forth his breathing mask. This was the only piece of equipment he was to bring that had never been used before, as every mask is custom fitted for its own hunter.

Once he is fully equipped, he steps into the shuttle that will take him to the surface world. The shuttle does not have any capability to return to the mothership once it has landed, so until he has gathered enough trophies to be acknowledged, this remains a one way trip. He straps himself in, and gives the Clan-Leader one last respectful bow before the hatch closes. He puts in a set of coordinates into the travel computer, and hits the launch button. The metal shrieks as it is sent hurtling towards space throughout a narrow hallway in the ship, and then suddenly there's absolute silence. There are stars everywhere, and the light of the sun coming up over the horizon of the planet illuminates his targeted landing site. He's heading straight for one of the largest cities of the planet, as there is a large concentration of conflict and anger there.

Other Yautja have hunted in savage bushlands, deep jungles, treacherous forests, scorching deserts or frigid arctic continents. But not him. His first hunt sends him into one of the most dangerous terrains the Yautja know of. He's heading for a concrete jungle. Suddenly, an impact rocks the shuttle, and he quickly calls up a damage report. Luckily, the shuttle had only been glanced by some debris and still maintained its course towards his hunting ground.

He can sense his excitement start to build. He will hunt, he will kill, and he will bring back trophies. Or he will die trying. All for the glory of himself and his clan. He can hardly wait...

* * *

**_Location: An offshore Navy Carrier 50 miles out of New Kalliope_**

_**Day 1, 08.24**_

Lieutenant Zachary 'Zack' Shepard was sitting in the mess hall watching an intense match of armwrestling taking place between Sergeant Bonnie Vasquez and one of the jackass marines that were dime a dozen on any Navy carrier. He couldn't help but chuckle at their idiocy, because this shit happened in every military facility they ever went to. Military jocks wanting to brag about being able to take on a member of Task Force 42. Usually they would challenge him or Rourke, and every time both of them would say that if the challenger was able to take on either Bonnie or Lance, then they would be more than welcome to try their luck with them. Throughout his 4 years in this unit, nobody had been able to get past either Bonnie or Lance.

He smiled at himself when he noticed that Bonnie wasn't even breaking a sweat, and still holding the guy who was twice her size completely still when her arm was at a 50 degree angle. She usually did that. Letting the guys think they were gonna win by letting them bring her down a bit, and then suddenly stopping. After having them strain themselves for a while, she'd split up into a devilish grin and press the other guy to the table in less than a second.

And there it was. Bonnie's mouth split into a grin that was befitting of a jack'o'lantern, and suddenly the other guy practically fell of his chair due to the force that his arm was being bent backwards with. And with an audible crack, the guys arm broke somewhere... Probably in multiple places. Zack cursed under his breath. Sometimes he swore that she enjoyed things like that a little too much.

Bonnie started laughing, and stood up from the bench. In the background somebody called a medic. Looking at Zack, she did a sort of dancing move.

"Goddamnit!" She exclaimed. "Bunch of chicken-ass bastards here, getting their asses handed to 'em by a girl!"

"Yeah, yeah... Settle down Sergeant." Zack told her. "I don't need you guys hospitalizing half the marine corps while they're still at sea. What will the other nations think of them, huh?"

The door to the mess hall swung open, and Staff Sergeant Rourke Cobb walked in followed by Private First Class Lance Vance. Rourke cast one quick glance at the marine who was lying on the floor holding his twisted arm, grimacing from pain, and immediately let out a deep sigh. Rourke and Lance went over to Zack and Bonnie, sitting down next to them.

"Gimme one guess... Bonnie's handiwork?" Rourke asked with a quick motion towards the wounded marine who was being carried out by a medic.

"What gave ya that idea?" Lance quipped in. "The mess where was sitting, the broken bones, or simply supernatural intuition?"

"Cute Lance, very cute. But yes, that was all thanks to Sergeant Sunshine over here" Zack answered. "Sometimes I wonder if you enjoy hurting these poor fools Bonnie...?"

"I tell you every time Lieutenant..." Bonnie sighed. "Yes! It's fun seeing these poor idiots writhing on the floor in pain. Plus, it keeps most other dumbasses from attempting the same. Believe it or not, I don't have all day to waste on armwrestling..."

"Ok, I'll agree to the fact that it usually keeps the rest of these guys off our backs, but is it really necessary to break their arms?" Zack said. "Poor bastard won't be of any use to his unit for a week at least..."

"I'll try to keep that in mind for next time Lieute..." Bonnie was suddenly cut off as their headsets buzzed to life

"Lieutenant Shepard." It was Admiral Kohaku, the officer in command of the ship. "I need you and the rest of your unit to report to my quarters immediately. We have new orders for you, straight from the top."

"That's affirmative, Admiral." Zack replied into the headset. "Alright people, you heard the Admiral. We might get off this tub far sooner than we expected. Let's get going!"

The four left the mess hall and headed in the direction of the Admirals quarters which were located in the bow of the ship. After climbing several sets of stairs they arrived at the door, and Zack knocked, whereupon you could hear a muffled "come in" emanating from the other side of the door. They opened the door and entered the quarters. It was arranged to look like an office more than anything else, with a large mahogany desk in the middle. The sleeping quarters where located further in, separated from the main quarters by a curtain.

The admiral was sitting behind the desk in an armchair, and behind him stood a man in a dark suit with a stainless steel briefcase.

"Gentlemen... And woman." The Admiral stood up and saluted. "We have a situation in New Kalliope, and it would seem that your team is the best equipped, and the closest. Unfortunately, I can't really fill you in on the details, as this gentleman behind me here says that everything is on a need-to-know basis straight from the Director of Dureanum. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm heading to the deck. Come and find me when the briefing is complete, and we'll arrange for an airlift to get your asses over there. And Lieutenant... You owe me a drink for this. So you'd better not go die over there, you hear me?"

Zack saluted the Admiral as he left the room, and then turned his attention towards the man in the suit.

"Well then mister... What can we call you?" He asked.

"I'm Agent Faust." The suited man answered. "And I have need of your team for a very, _very_, delicate mission. Am I understood?"

"Fully, sir. Discretion is what we're known for in Task Force 42 after all." Zack answered.

"Excellent. Then let us get straight to business." The agent opened the briefcase. "About 20 minutes ago, our satellites picked up an emission in space. It was very small, but from the nature of the emission it was evident that it was part of larger vessel. However, the vessel in question was cloaked, and that was why we were unable to see it. In fact, the only reason that we were able to detect it at all was because it was hit by a piece of space debris, causing a minor malfunction in the cloaking device. We also have reason to believe that the impact caused the vessel to go down somewhere in the vicinity of New Kalliope. Let me be blunt. This vessel does not belong to us. Most likely case, it is some sort of top secret stealth craft designed by another one of the nations here on Newearth. We need that technology. So what I need your team to do is head into New Kalliope, and from there continue the search of the vessel. I will upload an estimation of the impact site to your nav-data when we are done here. Do you understand what it is that I ask of you?"

"Yes sir. We head in, grab the tech, take care of any survivors, and get out again. Discreetly." Zack shrugged. "Piece o' cake, it's what we do."

"Excellent." The agent closed the briefcase. "Just be careful not to damage the technology when you 'take care' of the survivors. I'll upload the coordinates immediately. Now get yourself to the airlift, I have nothing further to say."

The four members of Task Force 42 saluted the Agent and then headed out into the hallway.

"Well, I'll be damned!" Rourke exclaimed. "Recon, recovery and survivor duty... Hell, this is gonna be a fuckin' vacation!"

"Don't be so full of yourself Rourke." Bonnie said. "I don't think whoever sent that thing up would send someone untrained out in what probably is a prototype flight over another nation's territory..."

"Besides..." Zack interjected. "They probably want it back even more than we want it, so they'll probably send someone after it. They have their own versions of us as well, remember... And I'm not too keen on running into a Rovelian version of Bonnie here. Hell, I wouldn't wanna run into our version of Bonnie on a bad day!"

"Hey guys..." Lance suddenly said. "What if it's not Rovelian...?"

"What do you mean? Ya think it might be Gerican? Or Caudish?" Zack asked.

"No, no. Nothing like that..." Lance said. "I mean, he said it was a piece of very advanced technology, and it was first seen in space right? What if... What if it's alien?"

"Jeez man..." Bonnie chuckled. "You gotta lay off the cheesy sci-fi flicks, they're messin' with your head!"

"I have to agree." Rourke said. "Humanity has colonized what, twenty-five, thirty planets throughout ten or nine solar systems. The most advanced form of life we've found was what basically amounted to a rabbit with wings... Odds are, if there's technologically advanced lifeforms out there, they're to far away to be worth searching for."

The four arrived at the deck, and were immediately greeted by the Admiral.

"Welcome back gentlemen." Admiral Kohaku saluted. "I've taken the liberty of prepping a Venus for you, just head down to the cargo hold and it'll be ready to take you to New Kalliope. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a ship to run."

With that, the Admiral turned around and walked off to a command console. Task Force 42 left the deck and found their way to the cargo hold. Just as the Admiral had said, a Venus airlift was waiting for them, the rotors spinning around slowly in order to keep the engine hot for an immediate lift-off.

"Sir!" The Venus pilot could be heard in their headsets. "We're ready for lift-off any second you are. All your gear is prepped and loaded into the passenger area, and we have excellent weather conditions all the way to New Kalliope. Visual will be low however, the sun hasn't come up yet.

"Good man!" Zack had to shout into his headset in order to be heard over the increasing sound from the rotors. "We'll load up immediately, so let's get this bird airborne!

They jumped into the Venus and strapped themselves in. They were gonna sit here for a while, so they might as well get comfortable. The carrier's lift brought the Venus up to the runway, and the smell of the ocean filled their noses. The Venus' rotors started spinning faster, and the vehicle took off into the sky. As the regular thudding of the rotors started melting together with the sound of the waves, Zack found himself drifting off into a comfortable sleep.


End file.
